Читать книгу Am I Guilty?: The gripping, emotional domestic thriller debut filled with suspense, mystery and surprises! - Jackie Kabler - Страница 10

‘Oh, that garden will be perfect for photos! Look Annabelle, how lovely it is!’

Flora, who was standing at one of the three windows of the large drawing room, turned to me, her eyes bright with excitement. I put my notebook down on the arm of the sofa and went to join her. She was right.

‘Wow,’ I said. ‘It really will, won’t it?’

We stood there for a moment, shoulder to shoulder, taking in the view. It was Wednesday morning, and we were on a site visit to a house near Wotton-under-Edge. It was owned by Elaine Gorton, a criminal barrister who worked in London during the week and spent her weekends in the Cotswolds, but she’d given me keys this week so I could come and check the place out, put a plan together for our next meeting.

She was getting married in May, at nearby St Mary the Virgin church, and I was in charge of the reception, a relatively small affair for around sixty people, which would be held here at her home, an elegant, Grade II listed, Queen Anne-style villa set in an acre of beautifully landscaped gardens. From a paved patio area outside the window, steps led down to an expanse of lawn, ideal for the marquee I intended to set up, and bordered with shrubs, roses and fruit trees. A curved path led, via an archway covered in some sort of evergreen climber – I’m not bad on trees, but not great on recognizing plants – to a large, white, painted summer house, and behind that a walled ‘secret’ garden. It had been too wet to venture out yet this morning, but I knew from the photos Elaine had sent me that that would be the perfect spot for pre-lunch drinks, with wooden benches dotted around under magnolia trees, beautifully colour-coordinated beds of herbs and flowers, and a gently bubbling fountain.

‘You’ve got a good eye, you know.’ I turned to Flora and she looked at me and grinned.

‘Thanks, Annabelle! I’m not much of a photographer myself, but it does look like a garden from a wedding magazine, doesn’t it? I can just picture Elaine out there, all slinky in her dress, the sun shining, the roses in bloom … it’s going to be fabulous, isn’t it?’

Her green eyes shone, and her enthusiasm was infectious. My first thoughts when planning an event like this, which would rely so heavily on good weather, were anxious ones about rain and wind, flyaway marquees and soggy food. But Flora was definitely better at looking on the bright side, and although I still needed to have a wet weather contingency plan, I suddenly felt inspired.

‘It is,’ I said. ‘Maybe we could drape that archway halfway down the garden with some little fairy lights, and do a few more photos out there later on, when it gets dark? And … random thing to say, and tell me if you think I’m bonkers … what do you think about trying to use that horse? The one we saw as we drove in?’

‘Oooh yes!’ Flora squealed, clapping her hands, and I could see that she’d immediately understood my idea. ‘We could make a flower garland for its neck. It would look wonderful! I wonder if it’s tame enough though?’ She wrinkled up her small nose, pondering.

‘Hmm, yes, maybe we should check that out before we suggest it to Elaine – could go horribly wrong otherwise!’

We both laughed. We’d spotted a white horse in the field adjoining Elaine’s garden as we drove in, the animal almost fairy tale in appearance with a long flowing mane and graceful swishing tail, and a haughty, regal stare. I wasn’t sure who owned it, but if they were willing, and the horse was a well-behaved one …

‘Oh, Flora, I almost forgot.’ I turned from the window as something else from my never-ending to-do list suddenly came to mind. She turned too, grabbing her own notepad and pen from the windowsill.

‘Yes? Shoot.’

I flicked through my notes.

‘Here it is. Isla Laird’s been in touch. You know her, don’t you? Oh, of course you do, she’s a friend of Thea’s, isn’t she? She’s a producer on that late-night chat show, Yak Yak Yak? Anyway, Ailsa Levi is appearing on the show in a couple of weeks’ time, and as we’re doing her book launch on Friday Isla was wondering if we could get a bit of footage for her to use on the show – you know, Ailsa signing books and that sort of stuff? She said the show will pay for it – we just need to sort someone who can shoot broadcast-quality video as well as the stills photographer we’ve already booked. Can you organize that?’

‘Sure, no problem.’

Flora nodded, scribbling away in her book. I watched her for a moment. Was it my imagination, or had she suddenly turned a little pale?

‘Are you OK, Flora?’ I asked hesitantly.

She looked up, a slightly haunted expression in her eyes, then smiled.

‘Fine! I’ll get onto that this afternoon. Oh look, it’s stopped raining. Do you want to make a run for it now, zoom down and have a peek at the secret garden while the going’s good?’

I nodded.

‘Great idea. We can roughly measure the lawn too, see how big we can go with the marquee. She wants a dancefloor as well as dining space. Should be fine, but let’s just check.’

As I followed Flora out through the hallway and down into the kitchen to the back door, I mentally kicked myself. I should have dealt with Isla Laird myself, damn and blast it. Why had I passed the job on to Flora? She’d definitely looked a little shaken there for a moment. I should have thought, should have realized that as one of Thea’s best friends, Isla was very much a part of what had happened, and that being forced to deal with her now was bound to be very difficult for poor Flora. That had been thoughtless of me.

I knew Isla myself a bit, too, of course – as a showbiz type, who flitted between London and Gloucestershire, she often attended events I’d organized, launches and celebrations and parties thrown by writers, actors, local celebrities. She’d even been to a do at my own house once, a couple of years back, I remembered now – probably the garden party I’d held to mark three years of Big Day Event Planning.

She was quite loud, the sort of person who some would describe as ‘fun’, I suppose. A bit over the top for me, and I’d sensed that Rupert – he and Thea had been at the same party – found her slightly irritating too. But, by all accounts, she’d stuck by Thea, after what had happened, and that had to be admired, I supposed. I was pretty sure I couldn’t have done it. My chest tightened slightly, as it always did when I thought about Thea, and what she’d done, but I swallowed hard, pushing the thoughts away, pulled on my wellies and followed Flora out into the damp garden.